


A Fool's Errand

by fugitivebottom



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Eventual Smut, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Penetrative Sex, Polyamory, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fugitivebottom/pseuds/fugitivebottom
Summary: Petrus owns a magic and healing shop in the center of Vesuvia. His life with his partner Asra and their familiars is a happy one, filled with laughter and love. Soon, however, they find there's red in the water. All good things must come to an end. | Co-written with @pheonix-wylder on Tumblr
Relationships: Apprentice/Asra (The Arcana), Apprentice/Asra/Julian Devorak, Apprentice/Julian Devorak
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my boy's story! Keep in mind that everything I tagged will not necessarily be coming in this chapter, though they will eventually. This is a nice little introduction before the storm.

Petrus sits on a stool on the shop’s ground floor, wearing only the pants he slept in and his hair up in a large frizzy bun. Eyes aching and bleary, he grinds the contents of his mortar into a fine powder. With the brand new batch of incense selling out, he isn’t about to miss out on using extra ingredients.

Out of the corner of his vision, he notices a near-ginger doe poke her head through the window from the outside, disturbing the sheer curtains. When he turns his attention to her, she makes a show of blinking her large black eyes - a clear plea for attention. _Forage today?_ she asks in his mind. 

With a beleaguered sigh, Petrus puts his supplies down and goes to the window. His fingers reach behind her ear and give it a thorough scratch. Her ear flaps happily. “I think so, Sadaf. I’ll get your breakfast and your bag when I’m done here.”

Sadaf doesn’t need to be told twice. _Breakfast!_ Her head shoots back behind the curtains and she’s gone.

Petrus hears a soft rustling coming from upstairs. He imagines a tuft of white cloud floating above the ever-formless pile of his pillows and blankets. The wood floor above creaks. With a grin, he turns toward the stairs to see Asra’s blinking violet eyes and equally half-naked form.

Asra yawns softly, giving him a half-lidded smile. “G’morning.”

“Morning.” The sight of Asra disturbed from all that softness reminds him how heavy he feels, the muscles in his face included. “She didn’t wake you, did she? I was planning to let you sleep.” He swallows the urge to make some clever innuendo about his grinding.

Asra shakes his head. “Not at all. I was in and out. When I realized you were awake, well,” he pauses to stretch, slow and lazy. “I wanted to be awake with you.” While he combs his fingers through his bangs, Petrus scans Asra’s body and notices how his pants just barely cling to his slender hips. He puts a rather tempting thought out of his mind. It’s too early in the day.

“Shall I brew us some tea?” Asra asks.

Petrus hums. “Whatever we have that’ll wake me up. I’m dragging already.” Reluctantly he returns to his stool and sits back down. “If I’d known this blend would be so popular, I’d have made more to start.”

Asra laughs softly. “You’re always overexerting yourself, Petrus.” Leisurely he heads back upstairs. Again the floorboards creak, this time in the kitchen. “Life is about living,” he calls down to him. Even from a staircase away, the scents of vanilla, cinnamon, and cardamom permeate the air. Metal scrapes against metal and the stove salamander’s flame puffs to life. “You don’t have to work so hard all the time.”

“But I do if I’m to keep up with your extravagant lifestyle,” he calls back, smirking at his pestle. The shop was doing well years before Petrus was even old enough to take the reins, and that showed no sign of slowing down. “Besides, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

After a momentary pause, Asra’s laughter carries through the shop. “I am sure we would manage.” Asra descends the stairs with two mugs, one glazed mulberry and rose, the other deep emerald and turquoise. He sets the steaming emerald mug down in front of Petrus before sitting down on a stool beside him. “We could give this all up and live off the land. See the world.” His eyes stare deep, penetrating into Petrus’s sea green ones.

Petrus toys with the handle of his mug, returning Asra’s gaze. “You know very well I couldn’t. But,” he concedes, “my parents and I have left the shop before. I wouldn’t mind leaving it again, though I don’t think the Frozen Sea would agree with you.”

A sly smile spreads across Asra’s face. “No?” He leans closer, eyes flickering with mischief. “Why not?”

Petrus would have the presence of mind to be flustered if it weren’t for how many moments the two of them have spent exactly like this. Poised at the edge of seduction, with Asra always seeming to be one pushing him over. Instead, he takes a sip of his tea. “Because you were made to be in the sun, and to be around things that grow more than three months out of a year.”

Asra’s smile stays in place, though Petrus swears he feels a subtle warming. “Hm. While I do enjoy nature and all its blessings, I was hoping you’d say I belong on a solid foundation. Like a rock, perhaps.” He winks, taking a sip from his own mug.

A chuckle catches in Petrus’ throat before he can stop it. “Are rocks not part of nature? Here I was trying to be delicate.” He mirrors Asra’s sip with a few seconds delay. “Besides, you’ve lived here long enough, I thought the belonging was implied.”

Asra nods. “It’s nice to hear, still.” The two have liked to say they met at just the right time. Petrus’s parents had just retired from the shopkeeping life and moved out. Asra was looking for some much-needed stability. Their bond was instant, kept at a steady simmer over several visits while they traded stories and bargains. Petrus became one of the few people Asra could rely on - for coin and companionship. One day, Asra showed up again and just never left.

He sets his drink down on the table and lets his gaze wander in Petrus’s eyes. A subtle lean bends him forward, inviting Petrus closer. Petrus only waits a moment before taking the invitation. His lips press soft and chaste against Asra’s, lingering before letting it break. He stays close, extending an invitation of his own, but Asra pulls back with a gentle sigh.

“Didn’t you promise Sadaf breakfast?” A coy smile graces his lips, bringing the mug up to them once again.

Petrus sits back with a disappointed expression. “I did, and if I don’t stop her, she’ll eat our stock.” He takes one last sip of his tea before setting it down and dipping upstairs at a trot to the magic-controlled icebox. Just under the lid he finds a swaddled bundle of her favorite berries. He brings them downstairs at the same pace. “But she’s foraging today, so she’ll be bloated by sunset.”

Asra’s flirtatious gaze follows Petrus to the window. “Give her a pet for me.” About this time, Faust slings herself around Petrus’s ankle, hitching a ride along with him. He seems not to even notice her, though he does flinch at the chill.

“She would kick down our door if I didn’t.” Petrus opens the curtains and sets the bundle on the wide sill. Sadaf arrives before the berries are even unwrapped. He pets behind Sadaf’s ear again as requested, telling her who it’s from. 

At the mention of Asra’s name, she looks up. Her eyes fix on him over Petrus’ shoulder and she copies Faust’s favorite word. _Friend!_ She blinks at him, fanning her long lashes. While she seems to smile, her snout is occupied by her meal in the next moment. 

“So, what are your plans today?” he asks Asra, stepping away from the window to grab Sadaf’s foraging sack. Were it not for the length of the handle, it might look like a feed bag for a horse.

Asra waves toward Sadaf. “I thought I might go into town and pick up some blue tongue skink. What about you?”

Petrus places the bag next to Sadaf’s breakfast, letting her put it on at her own leisure. Finally, he turns his attention to Faust, still clinging to his leg. He pulls her from his ankle and lets her coil herself around his arm. He holds her close to his chest, cradling her. “I haven’t decided, honestly.” He crosses the room and sits back down next to Asra, warming the mug in his hands with barely a thought. “There are a few things I want to finish, but I might keep the shop closed otherwise.” While the idea primarily came from Asra’s prodding, he chooses not to say so outright.

Asra finishes his tea and stretches out on his stomach across the table. “In that case, maybe we should go on a walk?”

Petrus downs the rest of his drink and sets his mug on the table. His newly free hand begins to rub under Faust’s chin. She leans into the affectionate touch, her tongue flicking. “That would be nice. Maybe I can teach you a bit more green magic.”

Asra replies with a soft smile. “I would like that, Petrus.”

With another languid stretch, he pulls himself to standing. The two go upstairs together where Asra begins to get dressed. Petrus, however, interrupts him. He approaches him from behind, using his rubbing hand to slip underneath Asra’s shirt and trace the skin there. “Meet me back here after shopping?”

Asra stops what he’s doing, gently taking Petrus’s hand and turning to face him. “Or you could come with me,” he offers. His voice drops to a whisper as he leans into the crook of Petrus’s neck. “Selasi likely has a fresh loaf of bread with our names on it.”

Petrus should know better than to play the temptation game with him. He wins every time. Still, that’s never stopped Petrus before. A small shiver makes its way down his spine at the feel of Asra’s breath on his neck. “Keep talking like that and we won’t even make it there.” He pauses to hold Faust up near their faces. “Not in front of her, though.”

Asra chuckles as he pulls away. “Well, you are more than welcome to follow, if you’d like.” He slides on his long vest and glances outside. The sun, still low in the air, has already warmed the nighttime chill, and the sky is clear. He already knows today is going to be beautiful.

Petrus passes Faust to and across Asra’s shoulders. “Well, I’m not a changed man yet, and I do have a few things that can’t wait. Though I’ll never refuse Selasi’s bread.” Reluctantly, he begins to get dressed himself, if for no other reason than to force himself to start the day. He remains without a shirt just long enough to loose his hair and comb some oil through it with his fingers. At least then might make it cooperate later.

Asra nods, watching him. “Then I’ll bring it back for you,” he offered. “Will you be alright here alone?”

Once fully dressed, Petrus throws his hair back up into a slightly neater bun. “I’ll be fine, Asra. Balms and incense aren’t explosive.” He approaches and tilts his head back, offering him a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll be on our walk soon enough.”

With a nod, they see each other to the door, and Asra begins his trek. With him gone, Petrus settles into his work. The new incense in his mortar eventually forms little cones. The rest of his work he completes with journals open and strewn all over his working table. Most of the pages lately he’s filled with care notes for the garden and recipes he hasn’t yet memorized. With any luck, he’ll be done by the time Asra returns.

\---

In the midst of a delicate special order, there’s a quick rapping at the door. It has a strange, playful sort of rhythm which Petrus doesn’t recognize. “One moment!” he calls, pouring the last of his order into a bottle and sealing it. He rushes to close the journal and tidy up. Before even fully approaching the door, he reaches for the handle and opens it. Without thinking, he looks up at whoever could be there – a byproduct of being shorter than most. “Can I help you?”

A very tall, lanky man with a shock of curly auburn hair stands before him. Petrus should have looked a little higher. "Ah, yes! I'm--hello there. I, uh, I was asking around town, you see, and I was told the shopkeeper here may have some very specific medicinal herbs I was looking for. Erm. Am I at the right place? " he asks, voice jumbled in several kinds of nervous energy.

It takes Petrus a moment to adjust, and a few more once he got a good look at him. His thoughts freeze, and for a moment he wonders how stupid he must look. After a blink or two, his mind rights itself. “Hello! I’m the shopkeeper. Unfortunately, I wasn’t planning to open the shop today. My partner insisted I take a day off. But since you know what you’re looking for, I might be able to make an exception.”

Julian blinks and his hands shake wildly. "Oh--erm--no, I don't want to trouble you." He rubs the back of his neck, embarrassed. "I, ah, should have realized when I came upon a shut door. Most of the other shops here in Vesuvia had their doors wide open. "

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Perhaps if you tell me, I can just fetch them for you? Our herbs are usually in stock. I grow most of them myself.” He can already hear Asra chiding him in the back of his mind, but he isn’t about to turn someone away for medicine. Maybe he also wants to continue staring, a little.

"Ah, well, if it's not a trouble then. Mugwort, witch hazel, and feverfew? " His storm grey eyes already begin to wander and peer inside the shop.

Petrus steps aside for him to enter. “Have a look around, if you like. It won't be a moment." He heads further into the shop, his feet carrying him toward his stock through muscle memory alone. On a typical day, it’s filled to the brim with wooden displays carrying herbs of all types. Trinkets and knick knacks litter any free space there might be. No matter how crowded it looks, he always seems to find what he needs.

Barely any rummaging and he’s already found small bundles of all three, tied with fine twine. Moving to the main display case only waist high, he wraps the bundles in thin parchment. “Oh, and I apologize. I’m usually better about introductions. May I ask your name?”

Julian has taken to staring at a collection of glass figures on a nearby shelf, obviously impressed. "Dr. Julian Devorak, at your service!" He makes a wide sweeping motion with his hand as he bows. The words sound rehearsed at best, and he offers a sharp smile which looks more devious than debonair. 

Petrus manages to hold back the rather unflattering snort that threatens his composure, but the skepticism in his gaze shows through. “Petrus de Boer. Not a doctor, but a healer all the same.” He finishes packaging the items and holds them out for him to take. “Anything else I can do for you, Julian?”

He shakes his head and reaches into his pocket, tugging out a handful of gold doubloons. "Ah, will that cover the cost?" His expression is sheepish.

Petrus looks at the doubloons with a keen eye. In his travels back to the taiga, he saw and even used a few doubloons. Something about the ones Julian held felt off. He assumes, perhaps unfairly, that the man got stiffed on his way over. Petrus could say with absolute certainty he would remember seeing him before. If he were honest, a few herb bundles weren’t worth the effort of finding out the coins’ legitimacy for himself. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, holding the packages further toward Julian. “A gift for the inconvenience.”

Julian frowns. "Ah, but I feel as though it is I who have inconvenienced you! D-do Vesuvians not accept doubloons? " He asks with a touch of worry.

Petrus shakes his head. “I was already here working. Truly, it was no trouble.” 

Again he silently offers the packages. “We do, but not usually on this side of town. Most people in this district have never seen doubloons. If I may, I hope you’ve checked that those are real. There are some unsavory people down south.” The last sentence carries a bit of playfulness. Whether or not he already knows that little fact, the sentiment is the same.

Julian smiles and nods. "Yes, you have a point. Pirates aren't typically known for being trustworthy." He notes the second thought under his breath. "You are very generous, erm. What's your name now?" he asks.

“A bit too generous, some might say,” he adds with a small chuckle, finally, gently, shoving the items into Julian’s grasp. “Petrus de Boer.”

Julian's laughs and takes the herbs sheepishly. "Ah, yes. Right. You did say that." With a gracious nod, he began to walk backwards out of the shop. "Thank you again! Come by-Oof!" He bumps into a bookshelf as he made his way out. "Er- come by anytime if you need a doctor's aid. It- it'll be on the house. " He stands just outside the door and nods once more. "Erm, right. Thank you, Petrus." With that, he closes the door behind him.

Once Julian makes his departure, Petrus breathes deep and exhales at full force. Even though he didn’t mind helping, interacting with a man made of nothing but limbs and nerves drained far more energy than he planned to expend that day. At least he was nice to look at. With rounded shoulders, he mills about putting the rest of his things away, and righting whatever Julian disturbed on the bookshelf. Suddenly, he feels a little more grateful for the coming walk.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fluffy diversion at the creek outside Vesuvia. Petrus tries to teach Asra some green magic, and Asra is too busy admiring him.

Barely ten minutes after the nervous doctor leaves, Asra comes back through the door. In his arms, he carries a basket of goodies - including the requested large loaf of bread. The scent of sun and clean linen wafts under Petrus’s nose even as Asra ascends the stairs. Upon arriving in the kitchen, Asra glances over at him.

“You seem more tired than before,” he says as he puts down the basket.

Petrus comes to stand next to him, picking out items to put away in their cabinets. In the midst of this, he sneaks a piece of bread right from the loaf and pops it into his mouth. It takes him a moment to chew through the hearty crust. “Unexpected customer. He only needed a few medicinal things, so I let him in. Very animated.” With the scrap swallowed, relief washes plain over his face. “I’m glad you’re home.”

Asra blinks. “Odd. Was he new in town?” He pauses, cocking his head to the side. “I feel like most of our customers would know better.” Petrus knows it wasn’t meant to be a jab at Julian, but it might have come off that way to anyone else.

“I assume so, and he seemed to have gotten scammed on the way here. I’ve seen more impressive doubloons.” Petrus takes a step or two closer, in part to grab more bread, but also in the hope Asra’s aura might reinvigorate him. The second bread chunk he rips off is larger than the first.

Asra shakes his head. “That’s a shame, but no surprise.”

He eyes Petrus, asking softly, “Would you still like to go on that walk?”

“I’d like nothing more,” Petrus sighs with relief between bites. He finishes off his bread before getting his bag, just in case they find anything interesting on the walk.

The two set out the door together, Petrus pressing a ward into it behind them. While he has no particular fears, it never hurts. Once on their way, each cast their gaze up and around. Asra breathes in the fresh air, and Petrus takes in the scenery. All the while, the sunlight beams bright down on them, warming them both. Without thought, Petrus bumps his hand into Asra’s, offering it to hold. Asra takes his hand just as easily.

Petrus looks over at Asra, watching the light play on and warm his golden skin. He feels Asra’s thumb stroke over his knuckles. Rarely does he ever look this content. Perhaps only when they walk together like this. Petrus often feels he should be the one happiest in the natural world, amongst every living thing which brushes his magic. Asra’s expression, though, pales in comparison.

Feeling his gaze on him, Asra turns his head to look at Petrus. “Should we follow the creek today?”

Petrus gives his hand a gentle squeeze, otherwise keeping a loose grip. “Sure. There might be something I can show you there.” In his mind, he checks off what magic they attempted in the past. There wasn’t much. Petrus uses little direct magic himself these days, which he counts as a blessing. At least in the healing field, direct magical influence is often the last resort. Danger or illness caught early only calls for the items found in his shop – much less taxing for all involved.

It doesn’t take long before they find themselves at the creek. Asra kicks off his shoes and sticks them in his bag. He dips a foot in. Seeming satisfied, he dips the other. “Oh, let’s sit here for a bit!”

Grinning at his enthusiasm, Petrus casts a wide blanket from his own bag over the bank of the stream. He sits down on it, but his boots remain on. Instead he scans the water, watching its lazy flow. “Looks like there’s some algae forming. That would be good practice.”

“Oh?” Asra shifts his gaze in the same direction. He moves to sit on the blanket next to Petrus, but keeps his feet firmly in the creek.

With a small gesture from Petrus, the surface algae begins to float toward the water’s edge. It stops just short, and he holds it there while he grabs a large spare jar from his bag. Once the jar’s mouth dips in, the algae flows without trouble. “It’s good for the garden, but I suspect this won’t be enough.” He closes the jar and holds it out toward Asra. “Care to try?”

Asra nods and stretches out a hand, flicking gently. Instead of growing the algae, he splashes Petrus with water instead. Holding back a laugh, he shrugs. “Oops.”

Petrus shoots him a faux deep frown which quickly smooths into a grin. “Yeah. Oops,” he replies. With his free hand, he takes Asra’s and places his palm on the bottom of the jar. He holds it there, knowing he doesn’t need the help but wanting the excuse to touch. “Algae blooms better in warm, stagnant water. Try to keep that in your mind.”

Softly Asra clears his throat, accepting the help. He focuses his attention on the water inside the jar and begins to warm it. “Just like sunlight,” he whispers, leaning into Petrus’s chest.

Petrus hums an affirmation, watching as the algae blooms and the water takes on a near-viscous quality. A slime begins to form on the top and bottom of the jar. “This won’t last long. But once it runs low, we can add more fresh water and repeat the process. Hardier algae will endure more intervention, but eventually we’ll need to come back for another wild sample.” Petrus lets go of Asra’s hand, checking the seal on the jar before putting it away. Still, he keeps close.

Asra nods. “Mhm.” It’s the same reaction he gives when he’s only half listening. The other half is being hopelessly lovesick, admiring his partner. “You are very talented, you know that, Petrus?” Finally he puts space between them, standing up from the blanket.

Petrus nods. “So you remind me.” He stays in place, content to stay dry and watch. “Most of the work was done generations before me.”

After rolling up his pant legs, Asra begins to wade in the water. “Hm. It’s really about how you use the skill, not who crafted it.” He scoops the water into his hands and lets it run through his fingers a few times before splashing his own face.

“True, but generations of practitioners have a way of guiding the results.” Petrus watches him, folding his knees up toward his chest and resting his forearms over them.

Asra shakes his head, loose beads of water flinging from his bangs. "That doesn't matter in the end, truly." He looks up from the water to where Petrus sits, his violet eyes playful and bright. "Why don't you come in?"

Petrus smirks in return. “And what, get attacked again? Besides, what if I just wanted to enjoy the view?” There he goes tempting fate again, though he can’t bring himself to regret it.

Asra cocks his head to the side, a subtle smile crossing his lips. "Oh, that wasn't an attack. Trust me, if I’d wanted to attack you, you would be soaking." He undoes a few buttons on his shirt and Petrus begins to regret, just a little. He makes a show of watching it happen nevertheless.

"Who's to say I'm not?" He grins wide at his own innuendo and rests his chin on his arms.

Asra’s eyebrows raise high beneath his curls before a laugh breaks through."Well, then come here and maybe we can do something about it." He leans against a rather large boulder in the creek and curls his finger at Petrus.

"Maybe? Well, I wouldn't want to impose." He says this as he works off his tall boots and rolls up his pants. Once he gets up and makes his way over, his hands slip under Asra's shirt. They smooth over his waist and along his sides.

As Asra’s hands slide over Petrus’s and grip them firmly, a sly smile tugs the corner of his lips. He turns to face him. "See? It feels nice, doesn't it?"

Petrus watches the smile before returning his gaze to meet Asra's. He keeps his hands in place, content to let them be held. "The walk home will be a bit uncomfortable, but this is a nice trade."

He laughs, though something else glints in his eye. "Trade me places,” he commands low and soft.

Petrus’s face grows hot, but he remains skeptical. His eyes squint into Asra’s as he replaces him against the rock.

"That's better." His dominant voice carries an airy quality. He runs a finger under Petrus's chin, tilting it up. Asra leans in, brushing their lips together. Exhaling through his nose, Petrus leans into the lightest touch. He keeps otherwise quiet and still, but the way his eyelids grow heavy, he seems to agree. Asra runs his fingers down Petrus's sides, resting neatly on his hips as he leans against him with the boulder stabilizing their weight.

Petrus runs his palms up Asra's back, pulling him flush. He returns to the soft brush of his lips, but makes no move to seal the gap. "You can hold tighter, if you'd like," he whispers low, shifting his hips.

"Hm. I wonder what you could mean." He gives a questionably innocent smile before pressing himself against Petrus's hips.

Petrus breathes deep as though the movement has put a weight on his chest. A hum begins to rumble in his throat, but he swallows halfway through. No need to give him that much leverage quite yet. "Maybe I could give you a hint." His fingers curl and lightly scratch down Asra's back, his hips pushing off the boulder for a little more pressure.

Asra slowly slides down until he’s kneeling in the water before Petrus. His soft hands trail behind him, hand momentarily brushing his crotch before running down behind Petrus knees up his thighs to cup his ass. He pulls his hands from under Asra's shirt to let him sink, but follows anything he can reach. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the strategic touch, warmth radiating between his legs as if on command. "All the way down there, hm?" It’s more an observation than a complaint, though there may also be a tinge of disappointment.

Asra looks up from under his white eyelashes lined in black. "You could always join me." With a glint in his eye, he grips the edge of Petrus' shirt, giving it a sharp tug. In his compromised state, his knees buckle easily and he plops into the water. The most confusing mixture of annoyance and amusement crosses his face until he finally smacks water at Asra in a wide arc.

"I knew it! I knew it and I fell for it anyway." Petrus didn't bother trying to get back up at first, heat stewing in his face.

Now they’re both soaked, and Asra laughs with delight. He sits up and looks Petrus over. "I suppose I should be more careful with your trust." He runs his fingers through Petrus' hair, tilting his head to the side.

With a deep sigh, most of the coarse salt in his blood dissolves. Still he won't give him the satisfaction of laughing too. "Maybe, if you want to keep sharing a bed." He punctuates the empty threat with a grin, letting his eyes scan Asra's dripping features.

"Ouch! Okay, I guess I haven't a choice but to behave,” he notes with a smile. "Well now that we've gone this far, you may as well enjoy it."

Petrus gives him a "when have you ever" look and settles next to him. "Begrudgingly, I suppose so." As often as Asra sees fit to make him suffer, he can never stay frustrated for long. Asra is too good-natured, and Petrus has long since identified his own fatal flaw. Finally he takes his eyes off Asra long enough to take in the scenery. They make the trip often enough that Petrus recognizes many of the recurring animal players, yet it never seems to look the same twice.

Asra lies back in the water, letting it rush against his body and run through his hair. He speaks toward the sky. "Petrus,” he asks, “Do you ever just lay back and breath it in?"

Petrus thinks back, losing focus on the scenery to do some mental math. "I used to, when we would go back home. Not much to do on those long voyages." He always uses “back home'” to refer to his family trips down south. For him, 'home' is inexact, more metaphorical. It’s several villages that dot the taiga, communities which sprung up only after his parents left for good. It’s also a few cabins by the icy shore in the Crab Isles, where he can confirm no actual human-crab beasts exist. Really, it isn't home at all so much as a reminder what his life could have been like. He'd take Vesuvia any day, with or without—though preferably with—Asra. "Not enough anymore."

Asra sighs a contented breath. "If you really think about it,” he says, “could you be any happier than you are now?" His eyes slide shut. After a few beats, he sits back up and cups a hand on Petrus' shoulder. "I love you, Petrus," he breathes. His eyes water as he speaks.

Petrus returns his attention to Asra, thinking. A few minutes before, he might have had at least one retort for him, but they all die before even making it to his throat. After a short pause, he merely shakes his head. Seeing his eyes begin to water, though, Petrus feels tears of his own welling up. In his mind, he curses his overabundant empathy. "I love you too," he replies easily, his opposite hand coming to rest over Asra's on his shoulder.

Asra shakes his head, starving off the joyful tears. "Let's start home." Upon standing, he offers a hand for Petrus to take. Internally, Petrus breathes a sigh of relief. The tears recede after only a few blinks. At least he won't have to be wiping them away the whole walk back. He takes Asra's hand and pulls himself up. The water which soaked his pants runs free down his calves. That part, he’s still a little annoyed about. He heads onto dry land ahead of him and packs up the few things he laid out. He uses the edge of the blanket to wipe down his legs and feet, allowing him to force his boots back on. Were the stone streets not so hot in this weather, he wouldn't bother with it.

Asra slips his boots on with a bit of force. Once they finished packing up, he stood amidst the newly empty space. "Alright, let's head back."

——

The return is mostly uneventful. Just the usual sort of banter they’ve come to enjoy together. Despite this, the atmosphere seems to grow heavier as they walk. Something in the air pulls them to keep going, even to make haste. Holding hands, they pick up their pace toward home.

Upon only just reaching Vesuvia proper, they spot a man. He stands in a hole half as deep as he is tall with burning red cheeks. His breath howls from his lungs like a strong summer storm, groaning and felling everything in its path. His eyes are just as wet.

Petrus casts a look toward Asra, a mix of confusion and worry. Neither stop him from approaching, though he keeps a comfortable distance more for the man’s sake than his own. "Is everything okay?" he calls. "Did something happen?"

"M-m-my oldest just passed last night--" He can't finish his sentence. Tears stream down his face. Asra’s eyebrows disappear behind his hair at Petrus. On a similar walk just days ago, they saw the boy running and playing outside, fine as frog’s fur. Asra’s expression softens, becomes complex. He seems like he wants to ask for more information, but doesn’t want to pry.

"Oh no," Petrus murmurs, approaching faster until he stands only a few steps from the edge of the hole. "I'm so sorry. Is there anything you need? Anything we can do?" Already Petrus is lost in his desire to help, focused entirely on their distant neighbor.

The neighbor nods. "Than-thank you," he sobs. "M-my wife and I would be grateful if you could t-take our soap to the Saeed family in t-town. We need the money to help p-pay for Alec's c-coffin. " He chokes on the words. Asra looks helplessly to Petrus and shrugs.

"Of course. We'd be happy to take it for you. " Petrus looks at Asra, apologetic. After the conversation they had, guilt sits heavy in his stomach. Yet it feels like a more profound betrayal to not offer his help. "You can go home, if you want," he says low to Asra. "I won't be long."

Asra retrieves a shovel nearby. "You go ahead, Petrus. I'll help with the grave."

Their neighbor points to a small parcel in a cart. "Th-the package is in there. Bless you, magicians. Bless you.”


End file.
